by James Finn Garner
Is such an exquisite digit–
The miles in a Daytona race,
Fortune‘s biggest firms anyplace,
And Fiat’s postwar car-midget.
The dingers hit by “Big Hurt” Frank,
Of the sweet stroke and bitter knees,
A-Rod, whipping boy for the Yankees,
And Thome, svelte as a Sherman tank.
Their several teams never captured it all.
The sluggers pushed on in good years and bad,
Taking what pleasure there was to be had
In campaigns of .500 ball.
Carved into history like Cy Nostradamus.
As Father Time erodes, hobbles and tames,
That mark will always shine next to these names.
500 cheers for Thome, Rodriguez and Thomas!
Published in Chicago White Sox, Cleveland Indians, History, James Finn Garner, New York Yankees, Oakland Athletics, Philadelphia Phillies, Players, Pure doggerel, Seattle Mariners, Texas Rangers, Toronto Blue Jays | Link to this poem | No Comments